


You're in My Debt

by fluffbuttcas



Category: Supernatural, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, elf!Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 07:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2539991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffbuttcas/pseuds/fluffbuttcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean loses his way in the Forest of Mirkwood, and Castiel finds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're in My Debt

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU set in Middle Earth, inspired by the Hobbit kind of. I have no idea what I'm doing but will probably post more in the future. Contains an Elven Castiel.

As soon as Dean set foot into the twisted, dense forest, he knew that he should turn around. He’d heard the tales, the horror stories; he knew very well what happened to travelers who tried to pass through Mirkwood. Normally, they disappeared. Once, Dean saw a man wander out of the trees missing a hand, babbling nonsense, eyes misty with confusion.

But Dean was smarter than that. He’d leave a trail behind him, keep track of landmarks. Besides, he’d rather endure the notorious forest of Mirkwood than spend an extra month walking around it. He had come all the way from Laketown, and was currently heading away from that shithole of a town towards Hobbiton, where he hoped to get directions to Gondor. He’d heard many good things concerning the village and its kingdom, King Aragorn held in high praise by all who’d mentioned him. Plus, Dean was no stranger to the stories about Gondor’s beloved Elven queen, brunette and regal and beautiful. Now that he thought about it, he should really stop by Rivendell, home of many of her Elven kin, as well. For educational purposes, of course.

Bearing all of this mind, Dean dropped one of his makeshift placemarkers (a small rock, painted red) at the entrance, underneath a tall statue eroded by ivy, and began trekking through the forest.

 

~

 

Dean estimated that it took him all of ten minutes to lose the path. He’d been frequently dropping little colored rocks and checking to see that he was still on the trail, until suddenly he wasn’t. The placemarks were gone, the trail was gone. He swore that the forest was actively fucking with him.

The searching and wandering that followed went on for what felt like days. He probably passed the same boulder twenty times, although he only ever walked in a straight line. He felt drugged, dazed. When was this going to end?

 

~

 

The human had been bumbling around the forest for a long, long time, going around in circles. Castiel was watching him. He had been, in fact, for the entire duration of the man’s struggle. He almost felt sorry for him, and had thought about helping, but watching the man stumble and swear at the trees was far too entertaining.

The wooden dragon Castiel was carving was almost finished. He blew the wood chips off its back, resulting in a near perfect rendition of a miniature dragon, about the size of his fist. Not his best work, but it gave his hands something to do while keeping tabs on the man who, although not much much of a threat at the moment, was technically intruding.

The next time he glanced down at the ground, the man was wrestling a giant spider, and losing. Sighing at the man’s idiocy, Castiel set the dragon precariously on the tree branch where he sat, and pulled out his dagger.

The weapon pierced the center of the spider’s head before his feet even hit the ground. He landed with a quiet thud, the human spinning around and whipping out his sword. In seconds, Castiel had his other dagger at the man’s neck, arm wrapped around his chest from behind before he could try anything.

"Don’t think I won’t kill you, too, human,” he hissed into the man’s ear, a warning. The man tried to turn his head to look at him, and Castiel cautiously released him.

Castiel properly looked at him for the first time all day, finally able to see something besides the tousled hair on the top of his head. The human was light-skinned, but tanned, a fine layer of freckles dusting his cheeks and nose. He was a little taller than himself, and strong, if the smooth definition of muscle in his arms was anything to go by. His eyes, though, were what stood out the most. They were bright green, and deep, shining in the slight sunlight that made it through the trees.

He was stunning.

"You’re welcome, by the way,” Castiel said.

"I, uh,” Dean stuttered, “thank you.” The elf’s lips seemed to turn up at the corners in amusement.

"What’s your name, traveler?” the elf asked, slowly lowering his dagger. “And what reason have you to intrude on Elvish land?” His voice was low and gravelly, but sounded like it was made of velvet.

"Dean. Dean Winchester,” he told him, sheathing his sword. “I’m heading to Gondor.” Nothing but a curious tilt of the head from the elf.

“I didn’t realize I was intruding,” Dean added.

“Indeed,” the elf muttered.

“So what are you called, elf?”

“Castiel. Just Castiel.” When Dean didn't respond, he said, “Do you even know where you are?” and pulled his one of his daggers out of the dead spider.

“I think so?” Dean answered noncommittally. “I mean I'm pretty sure I'm in Mirkwood, but I didn't know there were elves here. I mean, assuming there's more than one of you. Elves, that is.” Dean cringed.

Castiel was cleaning some disgusting gray goop of of his dagger, compliments of the spider. Dean took a seat on a mossy log next to him, as the elf seemed to be in no hurry.

“Firstly,” Castiel started, “You are in Mirkwood, yes. And by extent, you're in the Woodland Realm, and trespassing in the High King Thranduil's kingdom, which indeed is populated by elves. And by one half-elf, myself.” Dean sat a moment in thought.

“Thander-who?”

“Thranduil, ruler and overseer of Mirkwood and the Woodland Realm.”

“Huh.” Castiel took a seat on a rock across from him with an exaggerated sigh.

“The king doesn't take kindly to visitors,” Castiel said flatly. “Either you leave, or I have to turn you in.”

“I can't just pass through?”

“No, you may not. I doubt you'd be able to, anyway, judging by your success on the way over here.” Dean absolutely did not blush.

“Wait, were you watching me?”

“That is none of your business,” Castiel replied, blushing. Dean dropped it, instead a mischievous look growing on his face.

“Well, Castiel, since you're so interested in me, and since you obviously think I'm incapable of navigating through here myself, why not just help me? Then I'll be out of your hair, I get where I wanna go, and you don't have to disturb this cranky ruler of yours.” He smirked.

“Dean Winchester, are you suggesting that I disobey my king to help some human I don't even know illegally pass through his territory?”

“I'll make it worth your while,” Dean said with an impish grin and a wink. Castiel glared at him.

Before he could respond, another giant spider was on Castiel’s back. With a muttered “son of a bitch,” he leapt up from the log and plunged his sword in the beast's head, but not before it could sink its fangs into the half elf's shoulder. Castiel's head was lolling back on his neck, eyes half-open.

“Shit. Hey, hey Castiel, are these things venomous?” Considering that a greenish welt was forming where the spider had bitten him and he was beginning to drool, he assumed he was correct. “Buddy, come on, how do I get you somewhere safe?”

Castiel coughed deeply, mumbling something that sounded like, “Left side, into kitchen, room is upstairs.” With another hack, he added, “Need garlic... lavender,” then promptly fainted. Dean groaned and lifted him up into a haphazard fireman's carry, starting to sprint along the path in front of him.

A few tedious, terrifying minutes later, he crossed a white bridge leading to a huge golden door bordered by towering columns, ornate patterns carved into the sides. Dean barreled past it, turning to the left, deciding that barging in through the front door would be counterproductive. Seconds later, he approached a smaller wooden door on the side of the building. He prayed that this was what the delirious elf had meant, and slowed down to poke his head through the entrance. Thankfully, there was nobody in sight, and he'd found the kitchen. The largest, fanciest kitchen Dean had ever seen, but a kitchen nonetheless.

Shifting Castiel to his other shoulder, Dean pushed the door open.

“Garlic and lavender, garlic and lavender,” he muttered as he ransacked the drawers looking for the herbs. He quickly found a purple-flowered plant that looked right, and a bottle of yellow powder that he thought smelled like garlic, and stuffed them into his pockets. He crept over to another door at the other side of the room, peering into the hallway. Upstairs, he'd said. He just had to find stairs and some room that presumably belonged to Castiel.

There were two elves in the middle of the hallway, conveniently located right next to the white, spiraling staircase. Castiel's breathing had slowed noticeably; he didn't have time to fight these guys, not to mention that two elves dead in the hallway would pretty certainly blow his cover.

Dean grabbed the door handle leading into the room opposite him, hoping to God that nobody was in there, and opened it, then slammed it shut. He hid behind the kitchen door and waited.

The elves exchanged glances and headed towards Dean's end of the hallway. He held his breath anxiously when they walked past him, heart hammering away in his chest. What if they had some crazy elf ear powers, what if they could they hear it?

He heard the door across from him open, the elves' footsteps growing softer. After glancing out into the hallway, he bolted towards the stairs and sprinted up them as quietly as he could. The first door he reached was right at the top of the stairs, on the right.

was scrawled across a scroll of paper tacked to the middle, written in Commonspeak first (thank God) and Elvish underneath.

He turned the knob with shaky hands and burst inside, closing the door and laying the unconscious half-elf on the floor.

Alright Castiel, I don't know what I'm supposed to do with these,” he said, pulling the herbs out of his pockets. Maybe he had to put them on the wound. Or was the elf supposed to eat them? Might as well go for both, he thought. He poured some garlic powder into his palm, and crushed some of the lavender between two fingers. He spotted a pitcher of water on Castiel's desk, and poured a tiny bit into the mixture, making it easier to spread over the bite.

Dean pulled back Castiel's sleeve, revealing a truly gross, green patch of skin where the even grosser fang marks were. He smeared his palm onto the infected shoulder with a grimace. After wiping his hand on his trousers, he picked out another bit of lavender and poured a little bit more garlic powder, and shoved it into the guy's mouth. Better safe than sorry, he figured.

Now all he could do was wait.

Able to finally calm down, Dean looked around the room. It was large, bigger than his old bedroom by about ten times, although that wasn't saying much. The walls were dark and wooden, deep blue patterns lining the baseboards and ceiling. There was an impressive stained glass window above a really big bed, fitted with what looked like blue silk sheets. The desk in front of Dean was messy, stacks of papers threatening to fall onto the hardwood floor. The other side of the room was lined with overflowing bookcases, and a display shelf that held what had to be dozens of little wood carvings.

Dean was hit in the face by a saliva-covered piece of lavender.

"Blegh, Dean, why did you put garlic powder in my mouth?” Castiel was licking his lips with a disgusted expression on his face, now sitting up.

"Yeah? I mean you didn't exactly tell me what to do with it so I had to cover all my options--” Before he could finish, he was being smothered the half-elf in what appeared to be a hug.

"Thank you,” Castiel said as he pulled back, smiling widely, “for saving my life.” Dean was silent for a moment, stunned. “Why did you, anyway?”

"I wasn't just gonna let you die. Just seemed like the right thing to do, I guess. Plus, now you owe me one.” Dean's ever-present smirk had returned to his face, now seemingly unphased.

"Hey, I was the one who saved you first, if I remember correctly.”

"Oh-ho, I was fine. That didn't count. And doesn't me sneaking past a bunch of guards on top of everything else count for anything? Face it, you're in my debt.”

"I suppose I am.” Castiel sighed, then nodded once. “Alright, I will help you pass through the forest.”

“Hell yes,” Dean exclaimed with a grin. “I mean, thank. Thanks.” He hoisted himself up to his feet, eagerly heading towards the door.

"Not so fast, Winchester,” Castiel called, struggling to his feet. “The other end of the forest is several days away on foot. We need to stay for a while longer so I can prepare, and tend to my injury.”

"Oh, shit, sorry, I forgot about that,” Dean said lamely, walking back over to sit on the bed where the half-elf was now laying. Silk sheets, indeed. “How long are we talkin' here? Hours, days?”

"A few days at most. Sorry, Dean, but I don't want to risk an infection. Also, you're filthy, and your stomach's been growling very audibly for the past few minutes. You should eat. Bathe.”

Dean sniffed himself worriedly. “Sorry. Sounds good.”

Castiel smiled. “You can sleep in here, and there's a washroom the next door over. I'm sure I can manage to sneak some food up here as well.”

Dean's mind, of course, was mulling over the words “You can sleep in here.” What did that mean? On the floor? Would Castiel sleep on the floor? No, that was stupid, he was injured. Was he offering to share his bed? Dammit. Dean shifted his legs, clearing his throat and scooting a little further away.

"Speaking of which, it is getting late. I'll go get some food. I'll meet you back here soon, but I recommend you bathe soon. The cooks normally use the washroom after supper, so don't take too long.” With that, Castiel was out the door.

Washroom. Right.

Dean entered the room next-door, which was thankfully the washroom. It was grand, if a place for bathing and peeing could be called that. There were stalls not unlike the ones in Laketown's public restrooms, if one ignored all the fancy paintings on the doors and the marble, silver-encrusted sinks next to them. He'd kind of expected that after seeing the kitchen, but definitely had not expected several streams of water spraying down from the ceiling, each into separate little bathing rooms. When he looked closer, Dean noticed holes in the floor of each that the water escaped through. There was more water below, and he heard a faint rushing sound, like he was standing next to a waterfall. Dean stuck his hand into one of the rooms, warm water hitting his hand. He quickly stripped and stepped into what he could safely say was the best bathing experience of his life.

 

 


End file.
